Chapter 9 - The Desolation of Vanessa Hart and the Stripping of the Silver Mask
Vanessa Hart was not in a prison cell.
She was in a crumbling apartment on the outskirts of the city,
a place the Morettis had 'suggested' she stay after her bank accounts were frozen.
Nico had leaked her location to the paparazzi,
but he had also made sure that no one could get inside the building except for us.
When I walked into the dimly lit room,
the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap vodka hit me like a physical blow.
Vanessa was huddled on a stained sofa,
still wearing the silver dress from the party,
though it was now torn and filthy.
She looked like a ghost of the woman who had smirked at me under the chandelier.
"Elena,"
she breathed,
her eyes darting around the room in a panic.
"Please...
I don't have anything left.
They took everything."
"You never had anything,
Vanessa,"
I said,
walking over to the window and pulling the moth-eaten curtains shut.
"You had a borrowed life,
built on the suffering of others."
I looked at her,
feeling a strange sense of pity that I quickly suppressed.
"Do you remember what you said to me?"
I asked.
"'Maybe now you’ll learn your place'?"
Vanessa began to sob,
her shoulders shaking.
"I was just doing what Adrian told me.
He said he was going to divorce you!
He said you were a burden!"
"And you believed him because it suited you,"
I said.
"You wanted the status.
You wanted the silver dress."
I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of legal documents.
"These are the papers for the civil suit I’m filing against you,"
I said,
dropping them on the coffee table.
"For emotional distress,
complicity in assault,
and defamation."
"I can't pay this!"
she shrieked.
"I know,"
I said.
"That's why I’ve already contacted the production company of that reality show you wanted to be on."
Vanessa looked up,
a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"They...
they still want me?"
"They want you for a new show,"
I said,
my voice dripping with irony.
"It’s called 'The Fall.'
A documentary series about the collapse of the Cole family.
They’ll pay you just enough to cover your legal fees,
but the world will get to see every ugly detail of your life."
"No,"
she whispered.
"I’d rather die."
"The Morettis don't let people die that easily,
Vanessa,"
I said,
turning toward the door.
"We prefer to let them live long enough to regret every choice they ever made."
As I walked out of the apartment,
I felt the weight of the last few years finally lifting.
The revenge was systematic.
It was surgical.
And it was far from over.
I met Dominic outside,
who was leaning against the car,
watching the sunset.
"Is she handled?"
he asked.
"She’s a shadow,"
I replied.
"Good,"
Dominic said,
May you like
opening the door for me.
"Because it’s time for the family dinner."
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